


Fires of Creation

by JackBivouac



Series: Iron Gods [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Androgyny, Birthing, Body Horror, Bondage, Breeding, Choking, Double Penetration, Infanticide, Interspecies Sex, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Other, Oviposition, Parasites, Rape, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, Surgery, Tentacle Rape, Unconscious Sex, Vines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: Backstory oneshots deviating/derived from an Iron Gods campaign





	1. Boy, Howdy

Over the hustle and bustle of Silverdisk Hall--a one-stop-shop saloon, gambling house, inn, and bordello--the unusually pale and purple-haired Meyanda threw two smooth-skinned, completely hairless humanoids at the desk of her employer. The skulks’ skin shifted from the dusty brown of the streets to match the shiny brown pigment of the hardwood floor.

Mr. Ulreth rose to his feet behind the desk, a merchant’s smile spreading on his full-bearded face. He picked his way around the desk to inspect the cuffed merchandise. Fortunately, his android associate had stripped them completely naked for most ease and effect.

The skulks, smaller and slighter than humans like himself, were also androgynous. To a point. The one, Braith, sported a fear-contracted dick and balls. The other, Yadriss, did not.

“On your knees,” said Mr. Ulreth, with a nod of mock encouragement.

He watched in amusement as they rolled around a bit and crawled like inchworms, seeing as their ankles were tightly cuffed together, as were their wrists behind their backs. His eyes met Meyanda’s, but the android’s face remained as blank as a slab of chalk.

Instead of grinning back, she misinterpreted his look as a sign that the first round of amusements were over. Meyanda grabbed the two skulks by the back of their necks and dropped them to their knees. 

Braith winced in pain. Yadriss glowered at Mr. Ulreth, their face twisted in open hatred.

Mr. Ulreth chuckled and simply pinched Yadriss’ nose. The skulk let out a slightly nasal snarl, but as the seconds passed into minutes, their burning lungs forced them to lose the snarl. Yadriss unclenched their jaw just enough to let the air in.

They watched in growing fury and outrage as Mr. Ulreth unbuckled his pants. He continued to pinch their nose as he fluffed his weighty cock.

He guided his dick to Yadriss’ mouth, but the skulk shut their lips and turned their head as far as they could without breaking their pinched nose.

Mr. Ulreth merely twisted the hold on Yadriss’ nose. Their mouth opened with a slightly nasal whine of pain. He forced his cock between their androgynous lips.

“If I feel even the slightest scrape of teeth, I’m going to break your nose. So be a good a little whore, won’t you?”

Yadriss could only choke and gag in response, Mr. Ulreth’s cock pounding the back of their throat. Their eyes blurred with hot, angry tears. His dick’s brutal churning forced their own saliva up and out through their nostrils.

Mr. Ulreth continued to hold Yadriss’ nose and fuck their choking throat until their eyes rolled to the back of their skull from lack of breath. He finally let go of their nose. Yadriss’ head slipped from his dick to the floor, unconscious.

“I hadn’t even cum yet,” he complained with a mocking smirk. His eyes travelled from the unmoving body to Braith’s kneeling and trembling form.

“Meyanda, give this whore a hand here, won't you?”

The android complied robotically. She hooked her arms under Braith's armpits and hoisted the slightly smaller skulk all the way up until their tip-toes could barely brush the floor. Braith still managed to cower and curl themself smaller.

Mr. Ulreth snorted in bemusement. He reached down and grabbed their joined ankles by the steel cuff. He raised Braith's legs all the way up, setting the skulk's ankles on his shoulder. And fully exposing this little whore's anus.

He dug his thumb in through the skulk's asshole. His smirk deepened at Braith's wince and soft gasp of pain.

“Well, well, well. It seems we have us a virgin.” Mr. Ulreth grabbed Braith by the chin and kissed them full on the mouth, jamming his tongue down their throat. “Don't fret, sweetheart. I'll be gentle.”

He lied. Down below the belt, he spread Braith's asscheeks apart and thrust his cock through the skulk's tightly puckered anus.

Braith's scream cut through the generously rigged clatter of games, gamblers, and drunkards below. Until Mr. Ulreth clamped his hand around the skulk's throat, cutting off their air.

Braith's rapid pulse pounded against the skin of Mr. Ulreth's palm as his cock tore a new, bloody trail up the skulk's virgin anus. Snot and tears oozed down the knobbled line of his knuckles.

“Ugh, disgusting! Ungh!”

The gutteral moan tore from Mr. Ulreth's throat as he came uncontrollably in the wet squeeze of Braith's pulped anus. When he pulled out, a pink slurry of cum and virginal blood slopped out onto the floor.

“Deadeye's hole, what a mess,” said Mr. Ulreth, shaking his head. He gave the now unconscious Braith a sharp slap on the firm flat of their deflowered ass. Then addressed Meyanda. “You did good, kid. So what else did you find in Black Hill besides a couple of juicy new whores?”


	2. Oviposition, Baby

A line of lightning thundered through the caves beneath Black Hill. As fast as it flashed from Rzel’s wand, it vanished. The caves fell back into darkness, save for the areas of deliberately dim illumination from Rzel and Santre’s floating orbs of wispy light.

Santre flung the cave-black body of the last skulk off his scimitar and onto the cavern floor. “That’s that. Wonder what they were guarding.”

His half-elf bastard of a sibling shook their head and shrugged their bronze, tattooed shoulders. What the fuck did wonder have to do with anything? Indentured to the Technical League, they would find out or die for failing.

Beyond the bend of the skulk's ambushing post, a smooth wall of dark gray metal bisected the cavern, its expanse pitted and scorched but solid nonetheless. A strange, circular opening pierced the wall some five feet off the ground.

“Don't tell me--it's a window!” guessed Santre.

“I’m gonna bet on anything but.”

The human and half-elf half-siblings climbed through the hatch. Their floating orbs drifted after them, illuminating a hall heaped with metal junk and shrapnel. Brighter, sunny light and thin wisps of vapor spilled from a yawning doorway at the end the hall.

As they approached, weapons out, the air grew warm and moist. Condensation ran down the walls along with thickening tangles of brown and dull green vegetation.

Rzel froze at Santre's side. “What was that?”

There was no tell but the low humidity now audible from the doorway. Santre laughed and clapped a hand on their shoulder.

“Brigh's brassy buttocks, Rzel! You're jumpier than a jackrabbit on a hot--”

An entire small army of vegepygmies burst from the mist and overgrown vines. Two feet tall, green, and stocky, the vegepygmies fell upon Rzel and Santre with whacks and jabs of heavy, wooden spears. For every one they cut down, another two sprouted out from the vines in their place.

Whack! Rzel's wand snapped in their hand. Whack! They crumpled to their knees. Jab! The head of spear shunked through the back of Santre's throat.

“Santre!”

A final whack knocked Rzel out cold.

#*#*#*#*

The stench of stagnant water and decaying vegetation pierced straight through Rzel's snub nose to their brain. They woke in a slumped seat on and against an impenetrable tangle of thick, woody vines and fungus. 

Two vines coiled up their legs from ankles to inner thighs holding them open and spread out in front of them. One more vine pinned Rzel’s wrists over their head. Most ominously, they had been stripped entirely naked. 

Rzel grunted and strained with desperate strength against their bonds. The vines coiled down tighter, their woody bark biting into Rzel’s skin. The half-elf gasped in pain.

The thick curtain of vines before parted before them. Rzel’s pain died at the subsequent shot of adrenaline. 

A new vegepygmy stepped into the misted circle of light. Chieftain Vrilledt was a foot taller than his brethren, broader and bearing more fungal flourishes as well.

“What do you want from me?” screamed Rzel. “Just kill me!”

Like they had Santre.

Chieftain Vrilledt shook his vine-bearded head. A thick, dully green and trunk-like phallus descended from between his legs. Then a second. And a third.

Rzel’s entire body went rigid with icy fear. The scream died on their lips, choked out by their knotting throat.

Chieftain Vrilledt approached, his three phalluses continuing to grow out from his body. His penile trunks wriggled out toward Rzel.

“N-no, ple--mph!”

Rzel choked and gagged on the trunk shooting down their throat. The second plunged into their dry cunt. The third lanced up their clenched asshole.

Rzel would’ve screamed if they had the ability. Instead, they grunted and gurgled on the trunk stuffing their throat, spit dribbling from their chin. It splattered onto the trunks forcing their way deeper into their painfully protesting holes.

The chieftain’s trunks rattled Rzel’s body against the floor and wall of vines like an empty tin. Their hands and feet could only fail uselessly as the trunks swelled to press flat and plug the full length of their throat, cunt, and anus.

The engorged trunks stretched the walls of their shafts taut to the nerves. To their lung-burning, toe-cramping, finger-clenching breaking point.

Rzel broke. Their taut, quivering cunt and anal shafts exploded into a thousand lances of hot, primal rut. Their walls shuddered and spasmed onto their impaling trunks and into back-arching orgasm.

But as hard and as violently as Rzel’s shafts squeezed wet onto the chieftain’s solid trunks, the engorged vines wouldn’t yield an inch. Instead, the convulsions of Rzel’s own shafts forced them to cum again and again into unconscious as they burned through their last breath of air.

Chieftain Vrilledt watched as impassively as any plant as Rzel’s unconscious body continued to respond with only the most primal jerks and twitches around his phalluses. He only began to moan when his very literal seed burst through the flat heads of his trunks. His gluey nectar oozed to fill the twitching half-elf’s deepest cavities.

The chieftain let out a sighing laugh of release. His ovipositing trunks now covered in Rzel’s sticky discharge shrank back into the corded vines of his body. His smile turned upside.

Chieftain Vrilledt wiped the half-elf’s slick off his crotch, smooth again now that he’d spread his quick-to-grow seed. He shook his hands clean, splattering the slick onto Rzel’s own, generously curved chest. The vegepygmy had neither want nor need of their cum.


	3. The Way of the Future

Two spiked swords stained green with vegepygmy blood-sap hacked through the last wall of vines of the sanctum they’d erected in the greenhouse. Hetuath scanned the inner sanctum for any vegepygmies they’d missed.

The kasatha was a smooth-skinned, four-armed alien stranded light-years away from their desert home. Their build was spry and wiry beneath an oblong, almost octopoid head right down to their bar-like pupils. Those bar pupils narrowed at the objectively worse sight before them.

A native Golarion lifeform, their wrists vine-bound above their head and their legs straight out in front of them, swelled impossibly huge from the belly. This was no pregnancy. 

The now defunct vegepygmy chieftain had implanted his seeds within the half-elf’s stomach, womb, and anal cavities. They had taken root, feasting on Rzel’s flesh and blood for nutrients. In less than two days, they'd grown into semi-formed vegepygmy clones of their father. Once fully formed as two-foot adults, they would drain the half-elf to the point of death then burst from Rzel’s monstrously ballooned belly, doubtlessly finishing the job.

Already, Hetuath could see the half-formed vegefetuses breathing in curled slumber against the painfully taut skin of the half-elf’s distended cavities. The kasatha spun their spiked swords in two hands and slashed through the binding vines. The unconscious Rzel slumped free as though dead.

The kasatha’s wiry frame belied their strength. Hetuath gathered the distended half-elf in their second set of arms and ran down the halls of the crashed ship to the medical bay where curved panels of blinking, pulsing lights flanked bedlike tables. 

Hetuath laid Rzel out on an operating table. They leaped behind the control panel and activated the restraint system. Metal cuffs snicked shut across the half-elf’s chest and upper arms, over their wrists, their parted thighs, and their ankles. The cuffs sunk down as far as they could, pinning Rzel flat against the table.

The operation began at once. Hetuath’s sixteen fingers flew across the control pad. Three metal arms, each outfitted with glowing tools and panes of glass whirred to life and descended from the frame above. Long, jointed metal probes prodded down Rzel's throat and up their cunt and anus with the warrior-turned-crack-surgeon's fumbling aim.

Hetuath's accidentally incessant prodding up the full length of Rzel's shafts stirred their walls to life. The unconscious half-elf let out a soft, slurred moan against the probe down their throat as their walls quivered and squelched under Hetuath's rough touch, their wet folds grasping the metal arms.

The kasatha's prodding fingers finally bumped against the inner lips of Rzel's deepest cavities. Hetuath wiped the sweat from their octopoid brow. They activated the parasitic excision program and stepped back with their swords to let the AI take the wheel.

The operating robot shoved their metal fingers through Rzel's inner lips with clinical precision and technological apathy. The half-elf spasmed in against their cuffs with an animal grunt, fingers and toes clenching in their sleep.

Hetuath's flat, rock-like teeth cringed. That was as gentle as this emergency surgery would get.

Razor-sharp blades extended less than a quarter inch from the tips of the metal fingers. Quick and efficient, the robot sliced through the foreign umbilical-like roots binding the vegefetuses to the walls of Rzel's cavities. The severed, vegetal feeding tubes retracted into the semi-formed bodies.

Three sets of premature eyes opened. Despite their fingerless hands, toeless feet, and nearly featureless faces, the retraction signalled their primal search for light--notably absent in the half-elf's stomach, womb, and ass.

The robot arms sheathed their blades and ripped out through Rzel's shafts, leading the way. The premature vegepygmies barreled head-first against the half-elf's thinly walled sphincters.

Rzel screamed, writhing and awake at the triple explosion of pain. The cuffs refused to yield an inch to their rigid, violent shake of their limbs. Their free head and hips, however, banged and bucked uncontrolablly against the table, beating Rzel black and blue in agonized protest as the vegepygmy heads strained against their far-too-tiny sphincters.

The thin, flesh walls stretched to their limit. When they could stretch no more, they tore. Three heads ripped a new opening through Rzel's walls and crested into the half-elf's anus, cunt, and esophagus shafts.

Their massive, knot-like stretch pulverized Rzel's shaft walls into sheets of exploding nerve ends. Sheer, unmitigated feeling beyond pain and pleasure electrocuted the half-elf from their deepest holes out to their instantly clenched fingers, toes, and rattling skull.

Their spine snapped into an arch, bearing their distended shafts into the air in unholy offering to the world's cruelest gods. Their eyes rolled back into their skull.

But Hetuath could see it all. The parasitic bodies so distended Rzel's forced birth canals that the kasatha could track each limb in crawl beneath the half-elf's bronze, tattoo skin.

The first head breached through the blacked out half-elf's pussy lips. Hetuath ripped the premature birth out by the head and sliced through its neck. Two hands flung the decapitated corpse aside while the other two ripped the second breaching head from Rzel's anus. The last head emerged wailing from Rzel's mouth only to receive the same.

The parasites’ emptied host twitched and fell still in the ringing silence of the afterbirth. Their unnaturally stretched body glistened with layer upon layer labored sweat.

Hetuath let out a shaky exhalation and stepped back behind the control panel. It wasn't fair to leave the unwilling breeder to bear the loose, stretched flesh of their forced implantation.

At the press of a button, the metal arms sprang threaded needles from their probing fingers. Hetuath's fumbling warrior hands sent the stitching needles into Rzel's tortured holes. The half-elf's comatose state was the only mercy they found that day.


	4. This Town's Not Big Enough for Forgiveness

Rzel awoke in the stark light of the medical bay, surrounded by blinking lights and machine skeletons. A white, papery shift with too many sleeves was their only protection from the cold and a joke at that.

They pushed unsteadily onto their arms. Jagged lines of pain tore across the insides of their body--throat to stomach, stomach to bowel, bowel to cunt. The half-elf fell back onto the operating table with a cry, covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

They laid for several breaths, huffing through their nose as they fought from drowning in their own pain. Rzel grit their teeth and pushed back up.

The pain was no less, but their will was greater. They dropped both feet to the white-tiled floor. Their legs collapsed under them. Their arms smacked against the tile. Pain ricocheted across their stitched cavities.

Rzel cried out, eyes blurring in tears, but crawled on. They crawled until they’d reached the end of the room, collapsing in the doorway.

Rzel’s body shook with their quiet sobs. When their breath steadied, they forced themself to their trembling hands and knees once more. 

Because they would not die here. They would not die here. They would not.

#*#*#*#*

Mr. Ulreth had correctly assessed Yadriss’ dick-biting nature. So he set out to break his new whore at one and turn a pretty profit doing it.

He had the sheriff of Torch lend him the town stocks, setting them up in the saloon and gambling hall itself. Yadriss’ neck and wrists were locked in its holes and a clothespin clipped on the skulk’s nose, so his patrons could safely use their holes. Even now, one gambling drunk balanced his sloshing tankard on Yadriss’ back while porking the skulk’s ass while another pistoned his cock through their slobbering mouth.

Mr. Ulreth smirked with satisfaction, bouncing the much more docile Braith on his dick at the bartop. He’d robed Yadriss’ fellow whore in a short, sky-blue dress that barely descended below the skulk’s dick and balls. Braith’s obligingness extended even to their skin which turned the same sky-blue.

Yadriss, meanwhile, had taken the ugly, pale shade of the rough, sweat-stained stocks. Not that it mattered to the patrons. The only color of note was the slowly dissolving red paint on the back of their thighs that listed the discounted price to fuck their unwilling holes.

The saloon doors swung open for Meyanda, the machine-cold android bitch, whatever that meant. She might’ve had the color and emotional range of a dead fish, but whoever her maker was had built her with the curves of a pleasure barge. Thus, it was always something of a pleasure to see the bitch. Then she opened her mouth.

“My business in Torch is concluded. I’m taking my cut and my leave.”

Mr. Ulreth chuckled in bemusement. “I don’t know where you’re from little lady, but around these parts we’ve got a saying, ‘Never fuck a pimp.’”

On well-practiced cue, Mr. Ulreth’s bouncers stood from their booths and corners. Each packed a pistol at either hip. Their fingers itched for the draw.

The saying meant nothing to Meyanda. The android shrugged. In a single, fluid motion, she drew an inferno pistol in either hand and fired first.

Molten, red-hot pellets burned through the leather and skin of Mr. Ulreth’s bouncers. Flames exploded from the burrows of muscle and bone. 

Bouncers died in screaming agony. Their fellows fired wildly at the diving, tumbling android. Mr. Ulreth threw Braith of his lap and joined in the fray.

“Stop shooting up my saloon!” He had no attention to spare the lightness at his belt nor the lack of clinking keys.

Braith stayed low. They timed their dash behind the stocks. It was a miracle Yadriss had only taken a single bullet to the thigh. Braith freed their friend before they took any more.

The skulks’ skin turned the dirty brown of the saloon as they ducked down. They scurried out as fast as they could and got the Hells out of Torch.

The two skulks made for their home in the junkyard beneath Black Hill. They were greeted, however, by silence and the corpses of their fallen family. Not a single skulk had been spared the slaughter.

Braith sank to the cavern floor in wailing tears. Yadriss stood, one arm braced against the stone wall to remain standing. Their entire body shook with sorrow. And an even greater measure of rage.

“Get up,” Yadriss rasped.

Braith looked up but only in confusion.

“Can’t you hear it?" asked Yadriss. "Our kindred blood cries for vengeance. We must honor the call.”

“Yadriss--”

Yadriss paid them no heed, taking the blade off one of the fallen.

“Do what you will, Braith. I go to hunt.” 

Perchance to die. Perchance to kill.


End file.
